Travels in the Mists of Dread
by Lucy Wanabe
Summary: The adventures of a rogue and a ranger through the campaign world of Ravenloft, based on roleplaying sessions between me and my friend.


It was the night of a full moon when fate decreed that a naive rogue would meet a mad wanderer. It was cold, as was the wont of the land, and the night would have been completely dark had it not been for the moon's pale light. As it was, travel was already difficult thanks to the omnipresent fog that seemed to have a mind of its own. One never knew if it was ordinary fog, the dread mists, or perhaps a vampire lurking about as vapor. Knowing the environs, it could quite possibly be all three mixed together.

It was a quiet evening, the only sounds that of the chill breeze that blew through at regular intervals and the echoes of distant wolf song. Braeden had been stealthily making his way through the shadows cast by the trees near the roadside, slowly trailing a supply caravan as it headed off in the direction of Skald. The caravan had been moving at a maddeningly slow pace, as if moving slowly through the land would guarantee them safety. Utter stupidity, really, as the best course of action when moving through a werewolf-infested forest was expediency. One did not foolishly waltz through such a place.

But it was no matter. Let the werewolves tear the caravan to pieces. It would make it that much easier for Braeden to loot through their valuables. Then he wouldn't have to go through the tedium of waiting for them to set up camp, go to sleep, and put guards on rotation before he could even so much as lift a finger to pick a lock. Braeden's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a cloaked figure. She was of middling height, from what he could judge at this distance, almost completely covered by a black cloak with the hood pulled up, a longbow and quiver of arrows on her back. The only thing he could tell of her appearance was the snow-white hair trailing from within the hood. At her side stood a black-furred wolf, his presence probably the greater part of the stir that the duo's appearance caused among the caravan's number.

"Midnight! Lo and behold, for the fullness of the moon now calls to the children of the night! Come hither, my dears, and sing!" As if on cue, the black wolf threw back his head and howled.

Braeden didn't know how to react to this turn of events. Had the woman gone mad, or was she simply too foolish to care that she was shouting at the top of her lungs in the middle of a werewolf forest?

"Hark, hark, and be amazed, for they that stalk the night are not alone, for they themselves have stalkers who wish them harm!" In one swift, fluid motion, she drew a sword from beneath her cloak and waved it about in a threatening manner, the steel of the blade reflecting back the light of the caravan's torches.

Mad, indeed, but at least she made for a good distraction. Taking advantage of the caravan guards' diverted attention, Braeden quickly and quietly moved up to the nearest wagon and began to expertly pick the lock on the door. He was now close enough to the action to hear the responses of the caravan people. Amusingly, they seemed to think that she was a vampire.

Her laughter, high and childlike, cut off the conversation.

"Ooooo, they think I'm undead, Steppen! Imagine me being one of those, when I hunt them!" The wolf whuffed a response as she suddenly clapped her hands. "Oh, where are my manners?! I never introduced myself!" In an overly dramatic fashion, she threw back her hood and shook out her hair. "I am Marta Alexandru! And this is my dear Steppen!" The wolf, with an air of amusement, sat back on his haunches and flashed his teeth at the caravan.

Braeden would have found the entire display humorous as well if it weren't for the exotic sight of Marta: pale skin, almost waist-length white hair and eyes the same gold as the wolf's. Rather beautiful, in her own odd way. Was she even of this world? The caravan guards, for their part, seemed to have one-track minds.

"Vampire!"

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Marta turned to the wolf and began to speak to him quietly. This seemed to cement the opinion that she was, indeed, one of the blood-drinkers. Muttering at the foolishness of the guards—she was obviously human—Braeden finally worked the lock open with a satisfying click and quickly slipped into the wagon. It was pitch-black inside, and he waited a few moments in the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. The faint moonlight coming in through the wagon's sole window was just enough for him to see the multiple stacks of crates, each stamped with the unmistakable crest of Barovia. This was rather odd, as what in hell could the musical realm of Kartakass need from the domain of Strahd? Curiosity piqued, the rogue began to work on the fastenings of one of the crates, listening as the commotion outside slowly began to increase. Really, those guards were making way too much out of the woman's appearance.

"What's this? Don't you like my hair? I washed it with special oils precisely for this occasion!"

Braeden couldn't help chuckling. He had to admit, she was quite gutsy attempting to face off against so many foes. He finally pried off the lid of the crate and was disappointed to find ordinary-looking rations within. "Hardly a haul for the ages," he muttered, moving to the next crate as the noise outside increased even _more_ in volume. Just what in hell was going on out there? Resisting the urge to go outside and see, he began working on the second crate's fastenings. If he didn't find something of more value than dry rations, then this entire venture would be an utter failure. Surely, the caravan was carrying more than preserved foodstuffs!

"And now, gentlemen, allow me to direct your attention to my companion, Steppen…"

The next 15 minutes were spent in this same manner, with Braeden opening crates and Marta somehow managing to entertain the guards while keeping them from attacking her. Braeden was beginning to from boredom when the next crate he opened was found to contain a dead body. The young rogue jerked in surprised, unable to stifle a small yelp at the sight. Quashing a bit of nausea, Braeden leaned forward to get a better look at the corpse. It was hard to see in the shadowy confines of the crate, but from the looks of it the dead man had once been an elf. The rogue had never seen one before—the elves usually stayed within the confines of their realm, and on the rare occasion when they did travel abroad, it was never as far off from their home as this one had reached. Why was he here, in the caravan? What reason would anyone have for murdering an elf and then hiding the body?

Braeden was about to close the crate when Marta came hurtling into the wagon.

"Hell's bells and all some such! I smell undead!"

Braeden had to wait for his breath to come back before commenting.

"How many times do I have to be nearly frightened out of my skin?!"

Marta cocked her head to one side, looking at him quizzically. "Oho? What scares you so?"

"Did I say frightened? I meant startled. But that doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"I said I smelled undead. And I, as an undead hunter, must destroy it!" She proclaimed, stabbing the air with an index finger for emphasis.

"_What_ undead?"

With a calm that she had certainly not displayed the entire time she'd been at the caravan, Marta went over to the crate and pointed at the dead man. "Look." Braeden shook his head. "I already looked, and I didn't see…"

"His neck."

Entirely disbelieving her, Braeden leaned in for a closer look at the corpse in the crate. There, partly hidden in shadow, he could just make out two small puncture wounds in the dead elf's neck. The marks made by a vampire's fangs. "That only confirms that he's dead."

"Not so! For, indeed, what happens to one who dies from the vampire's kiss?"

Before Braeden could even answer, the dead elf suddenly began to rise from the crate, looking not so dead anymore. In a flash, Braeden backed away from the vampire, not looking where he was going and crashing straight into Marta. The odd woman threw her arms around the rogue in a surprisingly strong embrace.

"Oh _darling_! I didn't know you cared!"

"What are you _doing_? There's a vampire to be destroyed!"

Marta pursed her lips into a pout. "But I want a kiss, darling! You are such an adorable thing, you know."

"Vampire. KILL. IT."

"Do I get a kiss? Because I won't if I don't get a kiss."

Behind him, Braeden could hear the vampire chuckling. Of all the times and places where the rogue kissed a girl, never had it ever been anything as bizarre as the inside of a caravan supply wagon with a vampire looking on. Then again, none of those kisses were guarantees of his continued safety. Making up his mind, Braeden turned around and grabbed Marta into his arms. If she wanted a damned kiss, then he was taking full advantage of the situation.

It was a shame that they had to stop and fight, really, considering the effect the kiss had on both of them. Grinning from ear to ear, Marta stepped past Braeden as she drew her sword.

"So, wretched thing of darkness, you wish to dance?"

The vampire grinned, showing his fangs.

"How about a kiss for me, my dear?"

Marta smirked. "Oooo, so sorry, but you're not my type. I prefer my men to have a heartbeat!" With the practiced ease of a veteran, the odd woman lunged in for the attack, her movements quick and precise. Tricking the beast with a feint, she swiftly brought her sword up and stabbed it through the heart. A frown crossed her features as she took in the pile of ashes. "That ended too soon, dash it all. I wanted a protracted battle!"

Braeden couldn't hide how impressed he was. "That was amazing! I've never seen anyone move that fast before."

Marta struck what was probably supposed to be a heroic pose, but instead wound up being rather comical in appearance. "Undead I hunt, and destroy them I will. Normally zombies and such peons, but today, I have graduated!" She turned and planted a rather steamy kiss on the rogue before he could respond. "So, my sweet, what's your name?"

"Braeden," he mumbled in response. "Er, Iorwerth. And why are you so obsessed with kissing me?"

"Because you are cute, darling! And I, Marta Alexandru, have a proposition for you!"

"And…what would that be…?" Braeden truly hoped that it wasn't anything TOO strange.

"We hunt these things together! And look good in the process! What do you think? Two birds are better than one for stones!"

"That's not how…never mind. I suppose so, though I must warn you that the theatrics you used earlier aren't always the best course of action for someone of my skills."

"Sneaky, yes? I can be sneaky, too!"

"Well…"

"I sneaked up on the caravan, did I not? They did not see me until I announced myself!"

Why not join her? While she was out of her mind, she certainly possessed the skills to survive in this equally mad world even _with_ her strangeness. As the saying goes, two heads are better than one…and not so lonely on the road, if there's someone to talk to…

"All right, Marta. Let's join forces."

"Splendid! Shall we go?"

"What about the caravan guards?"

"Oh, we don't have to worry about them anymore."

As it turned out, she was right: the werewolves that had been on Braeden's mind earlier had taken care of that particular problem for them. One only had to wonder how it was that the lycanthropes hadn't noticed the disturbance in the supply wagon.

"Oh, who cares? We're alive, and on our way to adventure most exciting!"

Braeden blinked at the pale woman. He hadn't said that out loud—how could she have known what he was thinking? Travel with her, it seemed, was going to be very interesting…


End file.
